Cassowary Clare and the Stone Heart
by Justanordinarymuggle
Summary: When the Auror Cassowary Clare is sent on assignment to Romania to investigate a rogue golem, she quickly finds that something deeper is amiss in the wizarding world. And when muggles are kidnapped by someone dressed as a Death Eater, questions arise to whether something more sinister is at work.
1. Prologue - The Wand in the Window

A wand lay on a pillow. It had been there for quite some time; far longer than any can remember. There was nothing unique about this wand. It didn't even have a core. No, the only reason it drew the attention of anyone was the fact it was on window display at Ollivanders, perhaps the best known and most respected wand making shop since 382 BC. It was a simple display; a purple cushion coated in a fine layer of dust. Only the wand itself seemed to be tended to, maintaining a nice, clean sheen to it.

Pressed against the window was the small face of a girl, hands cupped around her eyes to better see. She stared right at the wand in wonder, as do most young wizards and witches as they approach the shop. What spells has it cast? What famous wizards once wielded it?

"Come along, dear," said her mother from behind, "You'll get smudges on your new robes."

The quiet of the shop was filled with the jingling of the entry bell. Air smelling of sweets and potions rushed in from the streets and disturbed the recently settled layer of dust, which the store could never quite seem to get rid of. The hustling and bustling from the busy street outside gave in to silence as the door gently clacked shut behind the two entrants.

"Coming," chimed a voice from the back room. It didn't sound as though there was any sense of urgency in the voice.

"Now, dear," the mother cooed while fussing with the hem of her daughter's robes, "Mr. Ollivander is tried and true with his craft. Your father's wand came from one of those shelves, too."

The girl remained quiet, staring at the immense stacks of long and narrow boxes. They numbered in the thousands for sure, reaching as high as the ceiling. It appeared that some stacks didn't make it and were left as tumbled heaps. A stairwell ran up one side of the store, ending at a door which happened to be blocked by another pile of boxes.

"Good afternoon," said a tall man who appeared at the front of the hallway. The young girl gave a start, having not noticed his quiet arrival. His silver eyes peered down from a large hooked nose and met hers. "How may I be of service today?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," replied the mother, "Is this not Ollivanders? I was expecting to see…"

"My father is currently on leave," he sighed, as though repeating himself for the hundredth time, which may very well have been the truth, "He will be away from the shop while he is on the mend. Until such a time as that, I believe I can offer assistance with your needs here. Name?"

"Oh. Well, yes. My name is Griselda Clare, and this one here," she said patting the young girl, "is Cassowary."

The tall Ollivander never looked away from Cassowary as he spoke with her mother. His passive stare seemed to be appraising her down to the bone. The girl very much wanted him to look somewhere else, and at last he looked away as he turned to reach behind the counter. Up came a measuring tape, which floated over and began to measure various limbs. He approached and bent over her, giving a sniff.

"Hmm… Perhaps vine." He sniffed again. "Eleven inches. May I?"

Cassowary yelped as she felt a hair plucked from her scalp. Straightening, he deftly held a single strand of hair between two long, nimble fingers and quickly poked his tongue out for a taste.

"Yes… Yes, that will do. Unicorn hair." Another taste. "Springy? No. Swishy. Hmm… Surprisingly so."

His movements picked up pace as he strolled back through the shop to hunt down the appropriate wand. He disappeared from sight, though his mutterings could still be heard.

Mrs. Clare's hand fell on her daughter's shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze, "My wand is also vine, Cass. I think it's a rather nice fit for you."

All Cass could do was stare down the hallway after Ollivander. She could still hear his mutters along with the muffled sound of clattering boxes as they were shifted around.

It was after a moment when Cass realized that some of the clattering was coming from somewhere closer, there in the front of the store. A distinct rattling noise, rather insistent, soon began to drown out any noise that Mr. Ollivander was making. Cass ran up to the shelves, scanning them to find the source.

"Whatever is the matter, dear?" asked Mrs. Clare, who did not seem to hear whatever Cass could. Ignoring her, Cass kept moving.

The noise grew more frantic, it sounded as though a box were practically jumping for attention. She didn't hear any of her mother's protests; her ears were only for the box calling to her. Past this shelf, not on that shelf, not under the counter, not under the single chair in the room, and the noise only grew louder. Where was it?

Cass found her way up the stairs, slowly at first, but running the last few. Just as she thought she couldn't bear to stand the noise any longer, she came to an abrupt stop at a disheveled pile of boxes in front of a door. There. It was in there.

Closing her eyes, she shoved her arm shoulder deep into the pile, sifting her hand through a sea of wood and cardboard. She thought she could hear the sound of her mother angrily climbing the stairs after her, but she didn't care. She was so close. Hands wrapped around her shoulders. She could feel her mother pulling her away.

_Not yet… Wait!_

There, right under her hand; the distinct twitch of a box. Her desperate fingers found their way around it, just as she lost the tug match with her mother.

A sense of victory filled her, and she held her arm high, box in tow.

"What on earth has gotten into you?" panted her mother, "You shouldn't be digging about on your hands and knees like that, especially in things that don't belong to you!"

"It looks as though that may not be the case, Mrs. Clare."

Cass, feelings of elation still swirling within her, looked down. Standing at the foot of the stairs was the tall shopkeeper. The stern look he had worn was replaced with one of curiosity, eyebrow raised. He held out a hand. "Have it here, child. Let's see who was so eager to meet you."

Her mother released her, and Cass carefully tread down the stairway as though holding something fragile. Upon reaching the bottom, she lifted her eyes to meet Ollivander's own. Her prior reckless courage was replaced with her usual timid demeanor, though her heart still pounded with curious excitement. Slowly, reluctantly, she handed the box over to his waiting hand.

He took it gingerly, treating it with the same care she had, something she suddenly felt grateful to him about. He slid off the sleeve and flipped the lid open. After a moment, a smile began to appear at the corners of his thin lips.

"I would have expected a vine to knock about, albeit rarely, but this?"

He looked up to Mrs. Clare, who still stood at the top of the stairs.

"Cairns?"

Still unsure of what was going on, and now taken aback byu his question, she nodded her head and replied, "Tully."

That seemed to satisfy Mr. Ollivander, who glanced back down to Cass with a mischievous grin.

"Well, well, Cassowary Clare. It appears as though a piece of home was crying out for something a bit… familiar."

With that, he pulled out a wand, polished and quite elegant. It was far more beautiful than Cass could have hoped for, even more so than the wand in the window. He handed it to her, handle first. Deftly, she grasped it and pulled it close to examine.

"Eucalyptus. Twelve and a half inches. Opaleye scale. I remember my father carving this one. He thought it too exotic to sell, but felt rather compelled to complete it. Seems as though he was correct to follow his instincts. Go on, give it a wave."

She looked up at her mother, who had since made her way down the stairs, and Mrs. Clare gave a slight smile and nod in permission. Encouraged, Cass swished the wand in front of her. A breeze filled the room, bringing with it warmth and humidity. The air tickled her skin, bringing her back to a place she recently had to leave. Tears welled in her eyes, but her smile was the largest it had ever been.

"Well, dear girl, how does it feel?" asked Ollivander.

Softly, barely above a whisper, Cass replied, "Like home."

-END OF PROLOGUE-

Thanks for reading! I thought that I would try my first attempt at a Harry Potter fanfiction. This particular story takes place in the year 2017 and onward, with the prologue and flashbacks in 1999.

I should note that in the prologue here, Mr. Ollivander is actually Gavin Ollivander, son of Garrick Ollivander. He is running the store while his father is out on leave. I won't spoil anything else though, promise.

Anyway, it took a while for me to hunker down and plow through this, so comments and critiques are greatly appreciated. I would ask that it remain constructive though, so that I may learn from it and improve.

**HARRY POTTER and all canon material belong to J.K. ROWLING. All original characters belong to me. Please do not repost without permission and without credit. Thank you!**


	2. Chapter One - Alleyways & Rooftops

A flash of light filled the alleyway, briefly chasing out the shadows and darkness the night always brought to the city. Another flash, just as brief, followed by the sound of a winding click. Flash.

Tristan Matthews stepped over a fallen garbage pail, camera in hand. His eyes, bright and alert, scanned the alley. Careful not to step on any of the refuse, or lose his camera in it, he maintained a slow and steady pace over the spilled trash. A cat scrambled from the large pile of bags, darting down the path ahead. Tristan was unfazed; he was focused on the investigation at hand.

Bringing the camera up again to take another picture, the bulb brightly flashed, filling the area of his shot with light and capturing every detail. If he missed any evidence in his initial sweep, he could comb over it more thoroughly in the pictures he took. Winding the film roll, whose rapid clicking noise filled the quiet alley, he continued on.

He eventually found what he was looking for. There, under a fire escape and nestled behind a rather unpleasant smelling dumpster, was his goal. What at first looked like any other pile of refuse was what appeared to be bedding. It looked hastily assembled, but as Tristan knelt for closer inspection, he could see there was some care put into making the hovel. Dirty and stained though the scene may be, it was well lived in.

_Was_.

It appeared to have been unused for days, though admittedly, it was hard to tell. The towels which served as blankets were crusted and hardened in place with the grime washed in from Thursday's rains. Three days is too long for any of the homeless to remain away from a shelter willingly.

Tristan took a few more shots with the camera, and then let it rest with the strap around his neck. He then took out a small Moleskine and made a few notes.

"I do believe, Wilhelm, that we caught ourselves a snooper," came a voice from behind Tristan. He gave a start and saved himself from falling over by catching hold of the dumpster, which he instantly regretted with what came off onto his hand.

"Oh, erm, hello," Tristan replied, attempting to stand upright. He furiously fought with himself to regain composure. Being an investigative journalist was fraught with dangers from time to time – something he was familiar with personally – but never had he experienced the sensation he was feeling from the two figures he faced before him.

The one who spoke, the one he _thought_ had spoken, was a shorter man. Somewhat stocky and with a greasy mop of hair, he carried himself with a lazy, almost aloof posture. It was as though he had not a care in the world, and didn't particularly concern himself personally with what was happening around him.

The second figure was much taller. He appeared rather lanky, with his strange attire hanging loosely upon him. Yet in his eyes he carried the glint of someone who was accustomed to ferocity. Not a man to be taken unassuming.

Tristan wasn't sure who unnerved him more. Both seemed immensely out of place. Though, he mused to himself, all three of them could be seen as out of place in a dark and damp alleyway.

"How can I help you two gentlemen?" he asked, hoping against hope that these two were here just to take out the refuse from one of these buildings, though he noted how neither of them carried any trash with them.

The smaller one spoke first, confirming to Tristan that he was the one who had spoken earlier. "I suppose you're paid to be nosey. Not really something you can help, aye? Not really something to blame you for. Still, and I should be honest with you, I really can't stand the nosey types. Especially of the muggle sort."

"We've been watchin' you, mate," said the tall one, "For a long time, we have." His airy voice set Tristan on edge. When they first approached, almost by instinct, he had slipped his notebook into his jean pocket. He could feel next to it his smartphone.

"Thinking on making a call?" cooed the small one. "Wouldn't bother. Too much magical interference, you see." He patted the side of his coat, as if that was to explain to Tristan the nonsense he had just heard. _Muggle. Magical interference._ New slang? Gang code? No matter. Tristan had to get out of there. The alarm bells were ringing louder and louder, especially as the two started advancing on him. They were slow; quite confident that he was not going to get away.

"Look, fellas," he chuckled, edging his way around the dumpster. The alley entrance was right behind him. "I'm not sure what you think I'm doing here, but, really, I'm working on a school project." He held up his camera. "I can show you the film if you want."

A spark, quick as lightning, shot out of the small one's side, and Tristan swore he just fired a gun. No other sound was made, save for an instant hissing and popping he began to hear emitting from his camera. Though he loathed to think it, he knew what that sound was: burning film.

"Looks like you won't be showing us much," replied the attacker, earning a chuckle from Wilhelm. He slid something back into his pocket, much too slim to be a gun. Was that a stick? Between the horror of just losing all of his evidence, the confusion of what the smaller attacker had just done to his camera, and the increasingly sinister look the two men had, Tristan's heart rate soared. He had to get out of there. _Fast_.

Spinning right on his heel, he pumped his legs as hard and fast as he could. Wishing beyond all hope that the two of them weren't carrying any guns, he ran. Jumping the spilled trashbin, and nearly hitting himself in the face with his own camera – still smoking, he noted – Tristan flew, summoning whatever track meets he managed to attend back at Leeds.

"_Petrificus totalus_."

He wasn't sure which of them said it, but he knew how hard the ground felt as he fell face first into it. Every bit of his body seized up, straight as a board, as though it were suffering a massive cramp. He couldn't move.

"Good shot, Spence," came the airy voice of Wilhelm.

The sound of footsteps approaching was the last Tristan heard before blacking out.

*****

Two shadows moved in the dark alley below. Rancous laughter echoed up to the rooftops, where Cassowary Clare lay in wait. The moonlight gleamed off the Auror badge, pinned to the side of her knitted cap… which happened to be the third one she's gone through this year.

She was crouched against the roof wall, eyes closed, as she focused on the noises below. Most of the thugs' conversation was inaudible murmuring, accompanied by the occasional bark of laughter. Cass daren't use an Extendable Ear; handy they may be, but she couldn't risk it being spotted.

She had heard the altercation between them and the muggle, fighting back feelings of regret for not interfering. She had a hunch they wouldn't kill him; not if they were who she thought they were. Besides, her mission was clear.

Her slender fingers twirled her wand, always held at the ready. It rarely left her side. She's had too many missions to think differently. That and it always tended to get antsy if she left it behind. She'd come back to complaints from co-workers about things knocked off her desk, and sometimes, from others.

Things quieted down between Carrow and Macnair down below. Soon, the sound of grunting and shuffling could be heard. Cass opened her eyes. She quietly turned around, staring at the wall. It was short enough for her to peer over, but she didn't. Instead, she held up her wand, tapped both eyes and whispered "_Visio."_

Instantly, the wall in front of her seemed to melt. She looked right through it as though it weren't even there. Looking down, Cass spotted them: Spencer Carrow, short like his mother, yet still managing to stuff into himself every bit of her cruelty and sadism. And Wilhelm Macnair, lanky like his father, yet he seemed to tower over everything else. Usually small fry unlike their parents, however their recent appearances in the Lower Districts were suspicious enough to merit tracking duty. Her notes on their movements today have been most interesting.

"Wilhelm, you git," Carrow hissed, "You're wasting time lugging him about that way! You have a wand, you know. _Wingardium leviosa._"

The frozen body of the muggle rose weightlessly as Carrow directed it with his wand. Slowly it moved past them and down the alley.

_ And where are you taking that poor sod, Spencey_, mused Cass. Keeping low, she moved along the wall, following them. Suddenly, they took an abrupt turn down a side alley, away from the building she stood on.

Cass cursed silently, looking across the way for a spot to jump. Once they both were facing away, she deftly slipped over the wall onto the narrow outer ledge. She eyed the distance across – and, regrettably, the drop down – and made to jump.

She wasn't sure exactly how she lost her footing, but it was obvious in mid-leap that she would miss the ledge and careen into the wall across the way. With less than a split-second to react and with heart racing, she cried out, "_Imago creta_!"

Hitting the wall, she half expected a broken nose, or worse, falling to the ground. Instead she disappeared straight into it in a cloud of dust. Left in place was a life-size, yet strikingly horrible rendition of Cass, rather flat and composed entirely in chalk. Every bit about her was two dimensional, and it was a rather odd sensation for her to experience. Even her trench coat, she realized, looked shoddy, as though a primary student had drawn it. She made a mental note to focus on her self image more before slamming into future walls.

"What was that?" she heard Macnair ask. The sound of footsteps stopped.

"What was what?" replied Carrow.

"That voice just then."

Cass cursed again - silently, as chalk figures cannot speak. She could hear one of them approach, quite sure it was Macnair. Her suspicions were confirmed when he rounded the corner of the side alley. Despite being so high on the wall, the top of his head almost reached the heel of her boot. His wand was out as he glanced down both sides of the alley, straining his ears. She remained perfectly still, especially when he happen to glance up and catch her figure. He eyed the drawing for a moment, unsure of what to make of it. He must not have been able to see much detail in the darkness, though that shouldn't have done him much good considering how sloppy she looked.

"It's nothing, Wilhelm," she could hear Carrow call with annoyance, "We're keeping him waiting. Come on!"

He looked away after a few moments and, with one last long stare down the alleyway, turned and headed back to the waiting Carrow.

If Cass could have breathed a sigh of relief, she would have done so. As the sounds of receding footsteps returned, she awkwardly made her way up to the roof. She made another mental note of how hard it was to maneuver as a clumsy looking drawing up a flat plane. Though she could move in any direction she pleased, she found that once drawn, limbs have a certain resistance to moving at all. The end result was rather clumsy and chock full of frustration.

On the rooftop, she pulled out her wand, which also happened to be absurdly drawn in chalk. A few silent waves in the proper motions was all it took to quite literally pop her out of the portrait. Brushing off herself a healthy portion of chalk dust, she continued her pursuit.

*****

It didn't take much concentration for Spencer Carrow to keep the muggle floating in front of him. He's had plenty of practice, after all. If he could do more to inflict pain, he would have, but he was under strict orders. No need to have upset the Master. That would bode ill for him.

Winding this way and that through the back streets and alleyways, he made sure that the three of them - he, Wilhelm, and the conspicuously floating body in front of them - stayed out of sight of any witnesses. That made progress slow. That would displease Master. That displeased Spencer.

He would have simply apparated the three of them to their destination, but such spells were strictly forbidden in his orders; Apparitions with muggles in tow could be traced by the Ministry, and they were the last people Spencer wanted on their trail. So, they walked.

"What do you suppose _he _will do with the muggle, Spence?" asked Wilhelm, his voice tinged with a curiosity that would unnerve most. Not so Spencer.

"Whatever he wants to do with him, I suppose. I hear that if you're a good boy, he may let you in on the fun."

"Funny..."

"Yes, it is. Now shut up."

They walked in silence. City life on a Sunday night was usually quiet and not many were out and about. A dog barked in the distance. The only other sound to be heard was their own footfall. So lost in thought was he that it took a tugging on his sleeve from Wilhelm to bring his attention to the dimming lights about him. Not in just the streets, but the _stars_ also.

"Spence...," Wilhelm whispered.

"Yeah, I know," Spencer whispered back, every hair rising on his neck, "He's here."

It began as a puddle on the ground, black as ink and swiftly grew in size. It seemed to suck in all the light around them, the darkness giving it power. Soon, it ballooned, a large mass lifting itself from the mire beneath. As it grew, so too did it begin to take shape. To say it was human in appearance would be horribly wrong, but it was also the closest comparison one could make. Arms formed, immensely long and ending with lengthy claws of steel. A torso took shape, empty and hollow. Above it all, cloaked in the colors of midnight and despair, emerged a head hooded and masked.

Before them stood The Wraith.

No noise came from the creature. All life grew still around it. Nothing could be heard save the slight wheezing heard from Wilhelm, a sound, Spencer knew, he only made when he was terrified. That rarely happened.

"_You come bearing gifts?_"

Its voice was as quiet as a breeze, but grated harshly in Spencer's ear. It was hollow and metal sounding. Every bit about it was inhuman.

"We... we did, sir," Spencer replied as soon as he recovered enough to. "Er, Master."

A long claw flashed toward the suspended muggle, quick as lightning. It did not touch him, however. Instead it traced the air about the face, as though giving a gentle caress. After a moment, it retreated back to the Wraith as it seemed to lose all interest in the muggle.

"_You are prepared for the next event." _It was not a question.

"Yes, Master. We have done as you have commanded. Everything will be set in time."

"_See that it is so. Do not let this chance escape you. You will not get another._"

"Understood, Master." Sweat beaded down Spencer's face. He hated this. He hated feeling so vulnerable, especially to someone, some_thing_, so much more powerful and intelligent than he. Carrow always assumed himself to be clever and crafty. He scored top marks at Hogwarts before dropping out, and all of his colleagues viewed him as a practical genius. Yet this Wraith seemed to be ten steps ahead of him, and leagues beyond anyone else.

"_Also, another matter has arisen to be tended to. One that must be dealt with before you return with this... gift."_

"Anything, Master," offered Wilhelm, who finally found his voice.

That dark mask, sockets without eyes, turned to face him, and all color faded from Wilhelm's face. Slowly, the same claw that had assessed the muggle lifted, first pointing to Wilhelm, then up further past them both and onto the roofs. Straight at Cassowary, face wide in shock.

"_Tend to it."_


	3. Chapter Two - Cassowary's New Spell

Shards of tile and concrete flew around Cass as a hex blasted into the building. She yipped as it nearly sent her careening over the edge. She jumped back just in time to receive a face full of debris. Returning the favor by sending a disarming spell to Carrow - even though it missed - Cass scrambled to her feet to make away.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, harder than anything she could remember. Yet she had no time to process the horror of the thing she had just lay witness to, but she couldn't shake the immense feeling of sheer terror clouding her thoughts and senses. Another blast hit the tile in front of her. She made a fortunate dodge over it and kept running.

The distinct pop of an Apperation could be heard on the roof behind her, quickly followed by another. "Get her!" came the cry. Macnair and Carrow were certainly wasting no time in giving chase. Now that she was within their sights, the amount of hexes flung at her intensified.

Scrambling her way over the peak, she slid down the other side of the roof and made to leap across to the next. Sucking in breath, she leaped across the gap between two buildings. The tails of her trench coat flapped behind her as her boots clomped down on the tile beneath, their magical enchantments - standard to any Auror - giving them the ability to absorb much of the impact. The fear still permeated, but being out of sight of the creature was beginning to help. Cass would fight back - she had to - but she needed to have the advantage. Right now, they had the distinct upper hand.

Cass eyed the surrounding layout of rooftops as she began to sprint. Her goal was two-fold: one, find a better vantage point to take on these two thugs, and two, make her way back around to the muggle for a rescue. Despite the horrendous implications of returning to that creature, the thought of running away and abandoning innocent lives was worse still.

She leapt again, beginning her arc back to where she started. Hearing the clink of tile rattle beneath her feet as she landed raised an awareness within her, however. Things had become too quiet. Spinning around, Cass saw Carrow standing near the spot she had leaped from, hands in his pockets. His smile was smug and alarming. Macnair was nowhere to be seen.  
When she heard the pop behind her, she knew the trap had already sprung, and it was too late to react. She felt the impact of Macnair's boot in her back, the force behind it shoving her forward. Off the rooftop and into the alleyway below.

There were no screams as Cass fell. There was simply anger at herself. Only at the snap of her leg upon hitting the pavement did she cry out, but that was quickly silenced as her head hit, sending her into darkness.

Her thoughts swam; slow and sluggish through the murk. She was weightless, floating in an endless mire of haze and forgetfulness. The icy touch of metal claws circled around her, leaving numbness in their wake. Everything was numb, save for the fire in her legs, which burned with magnificence. Cass wasn't sure whether to be comforted or afraid, so bright it was in the darkness. Bright enough to illuminate the inky figure, pointing it's long, gleaming claw directly at her.

"_Tend to it!"_

Shocked into consciousness, Cass moaned as the pain surged through her. Searing pain throbbed in her right leg, and her head reeled in waves of stabbing needles and nausea.

"Looks like our little birdie is comin' 'round, Wilhelm," cooed a familiar voice. Whose was it?

Slowly, she began to realize that the weightless feeling she had from her dream never left. It hurt to open her eyes. It was torture to even think. Digging into her years of training and field experience, she slowed her breathing and brought her thoughts into focus. Her leg was definitely broken. Through the burning sensation, she could feel her foot swelling within her boot. There was also a possible rib fracture, as there was a sharp pain each time she breathed. From the throbbing in her head, she was fairly sure she was suffering from a concussion. She was mostly curious about the weightless sensation she was feeling. Slowly, she pried open her eyes.

Indeed, Cass was floating; perhaps the same levitation charm used earlier on the hapless muggle. Now _she_ was the hapless victim.

For the moment, anyway.

"No struggle, Auror," Carrow sighed. He walked behind her, probably the one controlling the charm on her. "Nothing funny, unless you want a full-body bind. And I don't think your leg could take that."

Indeed, Cass found that she was not under any kind of freezing spell. _What dolts,_ she mused to herself. Sure that a spell or two could get them out of her hair, she bid her time for the right moment of action. Her confidence began to wane, however, when it dawned on her that something was missing: her wand. Well of course they wouldn't let her keep it. Without it, however, there wasn't much she could do against them. It seemed as though they weren't so stupid after all.

Cass let her limbs hang loose as Carrow and Macnair led her to her supposed fate. What they intended to do with her was a mystery. She was a liability; someone who had seen their crime, and, she thought with a shudder, their leader. Why were they keeping her alive? A simple Killing Curse could have ended it, and her unconscious and crippled in an alleyway would have been the best opportunity to do it. This could only mean that there is some use to be found in her. Whatever the reason, she decided not to give them a reason to change their minds.

Macnair seemed to share similar thoughts. "What's the point of keeping her alive? Can't we just off her and be done with it?"

"I dunno," snapped Carrow. "Would you like to ask the Master that? I'm sure he'd be glad to offer killing at least _one_ of us. Anyway, I don't care what he does with her, so long as I get what I'm promised."

That seemed to shut Macnair up, which left them in silence on their walk. So they were taking her back to whatever that creature is to decide her fate. Not a very good prospect, either way. And what was Carrow promised that was good enough to have him take orders from a monster like a dog? Whatever it was, Carrow didn't seem terribly pleased with the relationship.  
Macnair was off to her side, arms folded as he walked. His wand was casually resting on his arm and pointing directly at her. Neither of them were going to underestimate her. Well, that boosted her self-esteem somewhat, in light of her falling for such a childish trap. But wait, what was that? She closed her eyes and focused. Slowly pushing out the echoes of footfall, she began to pick up another drumming sound, as though something were jumping to get attention. Recognizing it immediately, Cass couldn't push down the smile that bubbled up from relief. That wouldn't last long, however.

"There he is," said Macnair, who pointed ahead. Cass followed his finger and found he was meaning the Muggle, who lay on the ground and was still quite immobile. While relieved to see he didn't look any worse for wear, her heart rate quickened. The creature was nowhere to be seen, but that didn't mean it couldn't come back. She had to find a way to draw away their attention and quickly.

"So, boys," she said, a hint of venom laced within, "Tell me what appeals to you two in taking orders from what looks to be yesterday's sewage? Are you pleased with yourselves?"

Carrow tapped her on the forehead, clucking his tongue as though chiding a child. "Mum's the word, little birdie. You won't get far going down that rabbit hole."

Macnair, however, seemed more nonplussed than his partner in crime. He turned to her with a brief flash of uncertainty on his face, then looked over to Carrow. He leaned over and spoke in hushed tones, "Look Spence, I don't like any of this. The Wraith has done nothing but give me the creeps ever since we formed this merry band with 'im."

"Shut it, Wilhelm," Carrow growled in warning, though the crack in his voice gave away his own nervousness, and he glanced around making sure they were alone. Cass hid a smirk.

"I say we off her, off the muggle, and scarper," Macnair declared, shifting his wand to point at her chest. _Well that would be inconvenient_, she thought.

"Don't you dare," whispered Carrow, his voice carrying with it sudden alarm. His wand shifted from Cass to Macnair, and she buckled in the air as his concentration on her levitation charm wavered. "Do you want us both killed, idiot? He'll track us down and off us both if we run!"

Macnair turned to Carrow, pointing his wand at him instead. "I'd rather take my chances than keep facing the Master. C'mon, Spence. You don't like this any more than I do!"

Cass had ceased paying attention to their bickering. Instead, she had closed her eyes and cleared out her thoughts. She honed in on the silent drumming that had persisted ever since she first picked up on it. It was close, very close. But where? Her head turned slowly one way then the other, as though trying to pick out a sound, even though she knew no one else could hear it.

_There!_

Her eyes flew open, and, sure enough, poking out of Macnair's coat pocket, was her wand and well within reach with him facing Carrow. In a flash, her arm shot out and grabbed it, as soon as she made contact with the handle, she let off a _Vermillious _spell in his pocket. Smoke and red sparks shot out of it in a dazzling array, and Macnair let out a yelp of surprise and pain as the magical fireworks set the fabric ablaze.

The levitation charm holding her up gave out completely as Carrow shifted his attention, first to Macnair's firework display, and then to attacking Cass. She was prepared for this, however, and in the split second it took for her fall, she aimed a disarming charm at him, knocking the wand out of his hand. There was no time, however, for her to catch herself from the fall, and her cry of pain as she landed told her exactly how injured she was.

Fortunate in getting a few breaths, as Macnair was distracted in frantically taking off his coat and Carrow scrambled after his wand, Cass made time to assess her next step. She couldn't stand, which was quite obvious to her from the pain shooting up her leg, and it was difficult for her to turn around, so what her next move was came as a bit of a challenge to her. She had to somehow render the two of them useless, find a way to rescue the muggle, and do all of this while crawling on the pavement.

_Smooth, Cass. What now?_

She saw an opening and launched another disarming spell flew toward Macnair as he stomped on his coat, knocking him into the brick wall behind him. He fell as a crumpled heap.

_Well, that's one._

Rolling to her belly - no small feat with a leg screaming with the slightest movement - she lifted her head to find Carrow, who had just picked up his wand. Spotting his partner out of service, he scampered to hide behind the nearest dumpster bin, narrowly avoiding another spell from Cass. This left Cass open, prostrated on the ground. Desperate, she did her best to crawl toward the wall, biting her tongue as her leg gave protest in a brilliance of white pain.

Her arms were shaking with fatigue; her head, swimming. Breathing came ragged and raspy. What little stamina she gathered in her time afloat was expended in those few, brief moments, and dragging herself across the alley was certainly not doing her any favors.

A blast came in, hitting her left shoulder. The shock and pain of it put her flat on the ground. It was one injury too many. Even as she heard Carrow's footsteps approaching her, she wanted to simply close her eyes. Just rest a little.

"_Do not kill her."_

Cass gasped at the grating voice in her ear, shocked fully awake once more. Eyes opening wide, she saw it. She didn't want to believe it. In the back of her mind, since last hearing that voice, she wanted to think it a figment of her imaginings. Carrow and Macnair were simply afraid of a crime lord who happened to carry a larger wand than either of them. That, she could fight. That, she could comprehend.

This was something wholly different. Cass now knew that she had vastly underestimated its size from high above. It was simply monstrous. There were no legs, at least none that she could see. It seemed to pour into itself from the puddle beneath it, the dark substance giving shape to its being. The bulk of it was in its back, hunched over. Hanging in front of it was a long and thick neck, draped and hooded in what seemed like tattered cloth, though Cass was unsure if it wasn't simply an extension of itself. Also in tatters were its arms, ended in long and horrifyingly sharp claws.

This close, however, it was not its size or the deep darkness of its nature that frightened her. The gripping terror that filled her was from what lay under its hood.

It was the mask of a Death Eater.

She was not alive during the First Wizarding War, nor was witness to any of the atrocities of the Second. Yet she knew full well the face staring back at her, from both reading history and actual accounts from veterans of one or both wars. A long crack in its patterned features was visible, running from the top of its head and down to under its right cheek. Pouring from the porcelain wound was a black haze, heavier than the air around it, yet seemed to dissipate before it hit the ground. Most alarming was the utter lack of eyes or, well, _anything_, behind those carved slits. It was a creature of darkness, both in body and, if it had one, soul.

"_You are right in your fear,_" it slowly hissed. Its face was so terribly close to hers now, yet she could do nothing to move. If it wasn't her injuries that kept her in place, it was the utter paralyzation of horror she felt. "_Let it fill you. Let it feed me._"

What could she do? What could _anyone_ do before this? She felt so ashamed, caving into the sheer despair that claimed her. Surely the other Aurors would laugh and jeer at her inability to handle herself. Surely Captain Potter...

She did it without thinking, even as its dark claws reached up to claim her. Her wand seemed to speak for her, yet the sound came from her own lips.

"Crystallum Tegimentum."

It was as though a force, invisible and unyielding, pushed back the creature, who shrieked in a horrible and terrifying anger. Rising up, swiftly like a wave, came a magnificence around her. Like powdered light, it swirled faster and faster, covering more and more of Cass and her broken body. Soon it hardened as it stuck to her, forming a cocoon that looked as though it were made of diamond.

She could not hear anything beyond its wall save for muffled screeching from the creature. Everything was warped, as though staring through a thick glass. She hadn't the energy to wonder about the spell she cast, or how it worked. Cass only knew of the tightness around her searing body, cool to the touch and gently lulling her into unconsciousness. She couldn't move; this crystal prison forbid it, it seemed. Another failure to make note of. As everything faded to black, the last that Cass felt was the tears of shame that slid down her face. They, at least, were free.


End file.
